FLOOD [Pokémon]

Chapter 43

LIOR

They were out in empty water, a ways from the trench. Elon floated ahead, winding smoothly across the sand, while Lior trailed behind, his gills gasping. His friend kept shooting him curious looks, but it wasn't until they crossed over a hill that the boy finally asked why: "Are you okay? You sound weird, and you're really slow today. Is it that getup?"

Yes, it was definitely the armor, an incomplete set that the beastmaster Cephas had dumped on him last week: it included the army's signature red breastplate and a matching set of arm guards. Not included was the tail chain mail that every other soldier wore. And thank Arceus for that, because this was more than enough—"burdensome" didn't even begin to describe this alien weight. Lior felt like he was bearing the mass of three or four millstones, and had been for a week.

More than a week.

"Yes," Lior said. He tried not to sound cranky, but his voice still came out clipped. "It's very heavy."

"It looks kinda loose, too," Elon commented, winding behind Lior. He poked his hand into the hole the left arm went through in Lior's breastplate and exclaimed, "Lookit this! My whole hand can go in! Shouldn't it be smaller?"

"They didn't have one my size," Lior grunted. He didn't bother explaining how no one at the corrals had bothered trying to acquire one of proper size for him — it wasn't as though he was going to be joining Cephas's rigorous training or anything. In fact, when Lior had reported for duty on his first day in the corrals, the huge, burly merman had outright dismissed him...after grabbing his arm and casting over it a critical eye.

"What do we have here?" he'd boomed, lifting Lior high off the sand. "These look like the fish bones I scrape off my plate at mess! Has the good holy Commander sent me a guppy for training? How old are you, boy?"

Lior had been shaking — all of the squires and army Pokémon had gathered around the beastmaster at his raucous cry, turning what should have been a private conversation into an embarrassing and slightly terrifying show. And the massive Jeager's grip on his slim wrist had hurt. Badly. "Nine, sir," he'd whispered.

"Nine, he says," Cephas had bellowed, lifting him higher by the wrist. "Nine! You should still be sucking at yer mother's teat, guppy! I've got beard hairs older than you! Whereas you've got no fuzz at all, save for that mane growing from your skull. Hairless and hapless, but crawling into my space all the same, demanding a spear and a go at one of my Pokémon?" He gave Lior a harsh squeeze and a harsher glare before finally releasing him, and turned. "The nerve! Carys at least waited 'till she was eighteen before she came calling. Out of my sight, gup. I'll not have child soldiers crawling under fin!"

At that, the crowd had dispersed. Lior had caught sight of Nightlight before he'd retreated—the Chinchou had been smiling hugely, and it wasn't until later that Lior realized it had actually been infinite relief for Lior on his face, maybe even joy.

But the Chinchou's hopes were to be dashed, because before Lior could go back to Titus and tell him that the beastmaster had...misgivings about him starting work with them, he'd been stopped by the threat to General Carys's position, the Kingman Camon. He'd carried that accursed armor with him, a poor and almost cynical welcoming gift.

"He doesn't want you to leave," the senior squire had explained as he helped Lior don the armor. "But he does want you to meet his standards before you actually begin training for combat. He's right about your size — you don't have enough muscle to wield a spear in battle for long. Acquiring that muscle is your first task." He'd finished adjusting all the straps on the breastplate, then kicked away and asked, "How does it feel?"